


Law and Order

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [40]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Riders, Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29022807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Our four musketeers are recalled to Paris where they discover tensions between the City Guard and refugees are on the brink of violent confrontation. And Athos meets a familiar leader among the people.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

Constance strode down the steps from the Musketeer captain's office as the wagon delivering the garrison's laundered items lumbered into the yard. She nodded a greeting to the driver, then went around to inspect the cart's contents and make sure everything that had been sent out was sent back—bedding, blankets, cadet uniforms. She had a list, which she checked off, then she began to unload the folded items and set them on the nearby table, organizing them into piles depending on where they belonged. Once that was done, she called over some cadets to handle putting everything away. She'd already settled the garrison's account with the launderer, so the driver was free to turn the wagon around and depart.

Constance folded up her checklist and tucked it into the belt around the waist of her dress. She'd file it with the official laundry invoice that was up in the office. Running the garrison had much more paperwork than running the dragon compound did, but other than that it was more or less the same. There were supply orders and organization, keeping the new recruits in line and working. (Most of them behaved better than adolescent dragons.) She'd even been helping the cadets with their training in swordsmanship when she could. She wasn't a master by any means, but she could hold her own in a fight. Besides that, she was the only one available, as every other able-bodied soldier had been away at the front for the past two years.

Every able-bodied, _helpful_ soldier, Constance mentally amended as she caught sight of Captain Lahaye marching into the garrison. He was dressed in the red and black uniform of the City Guard, which was basically just repurposed Red Guard attire that the Governor of Paris had gotten his hands on. His men possessed the same arrogance too.

Constance plastered a genial smile on her face even as she gritted her teeth to keep it there. "Captain Lahaye," she greeted stiffly.

"Madame d'Artagnan," he replied with an air of disdain. "Laundry day, is it?"

She arched expectant brows at him, not deigning to respond.

"Such funds could be better used to provide supplies to the City Guard," he went on.

"I've seen your uniforms spot cleaned and delivered every two weeks," Constance said blithely. "Perhaps you could save some pennies by washing them less frequently."

Lahaye narrowed his eyes. He had been pestering her for months that the Musketeer resources should be allocated to his own men. Constance knew for a fact his regiment was not suffering unduly, and short of an explicit order from the King or First Minister Treville, she wasn't going to shortchange her own strapped regiment.

"You do not know the first thing of running a garrison," he said snidely.

Constance gave him a pointed look and glanced around the yard. "I think I do."

Lahaye sneered. "You're playing house, Madame. There are no soldiers here, whereas I have an actual garrison to maintain."

"As do I. We all have to make do with what we have in these trying times, Captain."

Before he could open his mouth to deride her further, they were interrupted by a large shadow sweeping over them, followed by a gust of air as four dragons came down to land in the yard. Constance was stunned and delighted to see Savron, Vrita, Rhaego, and Ayelet, along with their riders. But…who was riding Rhaego? Constance's eyes widened further when she saw Aramis dismount from the russet dragon.

"Wha—" She couldn't form words as she took them all in.

D'Artagnan swung down off Ayelet and strode toward her, scooping her up in his arms and planting a passionate kiss on her mouth. She hugged back with fervent abandon.

He broke their kiss and dropped his forehead against hers. "God I missed you," he breathed.

She kissed him again, then managed to pull herself away long enough to look at the others. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis were all grinning at the two of them. The first two were dressed in armor, as was expected, whereas Aramis merely had trousers and a blue shirt. All of them had longer hair and beards than last she saw of them those two long years ago.

Constance smiled brightly at Athos and Porthos as she made her way toward Aramis. "How has this come to be?" she asked in amazement.

"Long story," Porthos replied, still grinning.

She could imagine. "And what are you all doing here?" she asked next. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you." Because she was, immensely. Every few months d'Artagnan would write her a letter that Ayelet would carry back with other official correspondence, but mostly the only confirmation she received that her husband and friends were still alive was Ayelet's reassurance they were whenever she made a stop at the garrison between courier flights.

"You weren't told?" d'Artagnan said. "The King recalled us to Paris because of the birth of the Dauphin."

Constance shook her head. No one had told her, but everyone had been busy. She'd barely gotten a chance to visit with the Queen much since the Dauphin was born, something she regretted.

"So, you're staying?" she asked hopefully.

D'Artagnan beamed. "We are."

That was the best news she'd heard since this war had started.

Lahaye cleared his throat abruptly and strode forward. "Captain Athos, I presume. I'm pleased to finally have someone reasonable to deal with."

Constance crossed her arms and glowered at him.

"I am Captain Lahaye of the City Guard," he went on. "And I am in need of the valuable resources of this garrison, which are not being put to use here with all your men out on the front. Whereas my men are taxed daily trying to maintain order in the city with more and more refugees pouring in. This woman—" He flashed Constance another disparaging glare. "—Has been refusing to cooperate."

Athos arched a mild brow at Constance.

"I've been looking after things while you've been away," she admitted.

Athos shifted his gaze to rove around the yard, which had less supplies than it did in the days when the entire regiment was housed here, and the supplies they did have were being used by the cadets, who at the moment were frozen in awe at the four musketeers and their dragons.

"And you seem to have done an admirable job," Athos remarked. He turned back to Lahaye. "I'll continue to defer to Madame d'Artagnan's judgment on these matters for the time being. The four of us are expected to report to the palace upon our return."

Lahaye's nostrils flared with indignation. "Meanwhile I am having to deal with riots at food distribution centers. I insist you divert some of your armaments to the City Guard."

The musketeers all visibly bristled at the captain's tone. While Constance was happy to have Athos's support, she didn't want to intentionally antagonize Lahaye.

"Now that some dragons have returned, I'm sure we could spare one to provide a supportive presence at the lines," she said. And since she wouldn't be getting any time with her husband just yet, she could go along as well. She turned to Ayelet. "Are you up to accompanying me?"

The white dragon bobbed her head eagerly. She hadn't liked playing messenger most of the time, as it kept her out of the action. Not that Constance expected there to be much action standing guard over a food line.

Lahaye made a derisive sound. "You?" he sneered dubiously.

Constance planted her hands on her hips. "Who else is going to command a dragon? None of your men have any experience with them."

Ayelet bared her teeth at the man. She, like the other dragons, would have immediately picked up on the tension and obvious dislike between the humans, and the dragons would always side with their riders.

Lahaye's jaw ticked. "Fine," he bit out and turned sharply on his heel to storm away.

Constance turned to d'Artagnan and reached out to squeeze his hand, reluctant to depart so soon after their reunion. But he was expected at the palace.

"Later?" he said ruefully.

"Later," she agreed.

Casting one last warm smile at the rest of them, she then turned and walked out of the garrison after Lahaye, with Ayelet taking to the air to follow from above. The streets weren't wide enough for a dragon to traverse on foot, but the square where one of the food distribution centers had been set up had room for her to land. What had once been a thriving marketplace was now a row of wooden tables separating stores of food from a long winding line of bedraggled refugees. The deadened look in so many of their eyes tugged at Constance's heartstrings. This war had been hard on everyone, but the people driven from their homes and who'd lost everything suffered the most.

Lahaye strode over to the tables where his guards were already handing out rations. Ayelet landed off to the side, sending a frightened gasp through many of the citizens. Constance walked over to the white dragon and placed a hand on her snout to show the people there was nothing to fear. The terror didn't leave their eyes, but they were starving and couldn't afford to abandon their place in line.

There were no problems whatsoever, and Constance wasn't sure she could attribute that solely to Ayelet's presence, though a dragon certainly did a good job of keeping people subdued. When a disturbance finally happened, it came from the City Guard side of the line.

"I said no!"

Constance jerked her attention toward where a thin man in fraying clothes stood at the table, practically cowering under a city guard's blistering glare.

"What's the problem here?" Lahaye interjected, marching over.

"This greedy sod wants to take more than his share," the guard sneered in response.

"P-please," the man stammered. "The second is for my wife. She is ill and frail and cannot stand in line for hours. I must bring the food back to her."

"One serving per person," Lahaye said coldly. "Are you going to cause a scene?" he asked, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword.

"Captain," Constance said sharply, storming over. "This man is clearly not threatening anyone."

"Stay out of this," Lahaye snapped at her.

"Don't you have any compassion?" she pressed.

Lahaye's eyes flashed dangerously and he skewered the refugee with a vicious glower. "Perhaps you should leave without getting anything."

Constance bristled with righteous indignation. How dare he? Pushing forward, she snatched two servings of bread off the table and handed them to the frail man. "Go," she urged.

The man's eyes widened, but he didn't look the gift horse in the mouth and quickly hurried away.

"What do you think you're doing?" Lahaye raged, taking a menacing step toward Constance.

Ayelet surged forward, coming up behind her and glaring down at the captain and his men, who all froze under her predatory scrutiny.

"If this is how you run the food distribution, I can see why you have so many problems," Constance snapped.

Lahaye was visibly fuming, but the City Guard weren't armed with acimite and therefore had nothing on a dragon.

Constance held his gaze for a split second longer before turning on her heel and marching back over to her post off to the side. Ayelet followed, taking up a watchful position again.

There were no more disturbances after that, not from the refugees or the city guards. The people continued to flick frightened looks at the dragon in their midst, but there was also curiosity and perhaps a glimmer of tentative hope and gratitude.

Constance suspected Lahaye wouldn't be asking for her assistance again. But she might find a way to fit this into her daily schedule after all.

.o.0.o.

Needing to stretch their legs after so many hours of flying, the musketeers headed to the palace on foot where they were immediately directed to the throne room. D'Artagnan's gaze met Treville's first, and he was taken aback by the amount of silver in the First Minister's beard. The King, likewise, looked markedly different with a full mustache and beard that gave him an older, more distinguished appearance. The Queen was the only one of them who hadn't changed, and remained as radiant as ever, even more so with the swaddled infant in her arms.

"Welcome back," Treville said, acknowledging them all with a pleased smile. His expression faltered for a second on Aramis, though he recovered quickly.

The Queen looked equally surprised. "Aramis," she greeted. "I thought you retired to a monastery."

Aramis bowed low to her and Louis. "I did, Your Majesties, but recent events have shown me I may serve both God and France, and I wished to return."

Louis stood up from his throne and gave an approving nod. "I am pleased. I need trusted men in my circle now more than ever." He swung his arm back to gesture at the Queen and child. "I present my son, Louis Dieudonné."

Anne angled the babe in her arms so they could gaze upon his face. The musketeers all bowed before her and the Dauphin.

"We received word of the compromised supply route," Treville spoke up. "They have since been changed. Did you find those responsible?"

"We did," Athos replied. "Most were killed in battle, but I regret to report that the leader of the bandits escaped." He went on to recount the tale of tracking the stolen powder and meeting Aramis at the monastery, closing with the capture of the Spanish general, Tavares.

"Well," Louis said when Athos was finished. "The loss of the gunpowder is unfortunate, but the capture of the general is most impressive."

Athos inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment.

"I know I chose well in selecting you three to return to protect my son," Louis went on. "And Aramis, of course, now that you are here."

D'Artagnan let out a breath of relief at that. Part of him had been wondering whether their orders would apply to Aramis as well, or if he would be sent back to the front. But fortunately, the Inseparables held.

Louis nodded to Treville, which signaled the end of their audience. Treville gestured for them all to head out.

"We have things to discuss in terms of the Dauphin's protection," the First Minister said in the hallway. "But after you've had some time to rest from your journey. I know how taxing these past few months have been."

D'Artagnan huffed softly. "Try years."

Treville just gave him a wry look. "I'll speak with you tomorrow, Athos. And again, welcome home."

D'Artagnan's chest swelled with elation because _yes_ , they were home.

The four of them headed back to the garrison.

"Everythin's so…different," Porthos remarked.

Indeed, the buildings and walls may have been the same, but many other things had changed. Namely the faces—so many young cadets. And the distinct lack of dragons. D'Artagnan wondered what the dragon compound next door looked like. That was technically his home, though he thought he'd wait for Constance and Ayelet to return before going over and surprising her father, Jean.

But she wasn't back yet, and Aramis and Porthos had gone off to see if their rooms were still available. D'Artagnan figured he'd introduce himself to the cadets, most of whom fumbled over themselves when they learned who he was, and that he was a dragon rider. D'Artagnan wondered if he'd been this starstruck when he'd first met the musketeers and their dragons.

He asked them about their time at the garrison so far and was pleased to hear they thought well of Constance as their acting leader while Athos was away. He then started getting questioned in turn about Captain Athos and how harsh was he? Did they stand a chance under his command?

D'Artagnan assured them that Athos was a fair captain, and if they worked hard, they would do well.

A dragon screech alerted him to Constance's and Ayelet's return. D'Artagnan waved to the cadets and then jogged over to his wife, thrilled to finally have another moment with her.

"How was the rioting?" he asked casually.

Constance scowled darkly.

D'Artagnan frowned. "Wait, was there actual rioting?"

"No. Captain Lahaye and his men are the ones who need a lesson in civility," she said, clearly riled up. She gave herself a sharp shake. "Never mind, I don't want to talk about it right now. Do you have any more duties required of you tonight?"

He grinned. "No. I am all yours. Well, and your father's when we return home."

Constance's eyes took on a mischievous gleam. "Actually, since running the garrison takes up so much time, I may have moved into my own set of rooms here."

D'Artagnan arched his brows. "Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm. Set apart from the cadets for privacy." Her lips quirked. "We can tell my father you're back tomorrow."

Oh, d'Artagnan liked the sound of that. "Lead the way."

Constance could barely suppress her smile as she took his hand and started guiding him toward the barracks. They passed Porthos and Aramis, who looked like they wanted to ask her something, but d'Artagnan cut them off with a raised hand.

"Not tonight," he said firmly.

The two exchanged knowing grins at his expense, but d'Artagnan didn't care. It had been two long, horrible years, and he was going to spend this night in the arms of his beloved wife.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis threw his sword arm up to block a strike from Porthos, then parried a second in quick succession. It was fortunate Porthos wasn't sparring with his schiavona; otherwise Aramis would be feeling the blows twice as hard. As it was, he was more sore from the battle at the monastery than he'd like to admit, and his skills were rather rusty after two years of neglecting them. Sure, he knew the moves and could defend himself, but he lacked the flourish and grace he once possessed, and his muscles did not approve of the brutal workout.

Even so, the two musketeers had drawn an audience of cadets who looked rather awed by their performance. Aramis deflected another swing and danced around Porthos's side, putting some distance between them. He desperately needed a break but didn't want to admit it, so instead he gestured with his sword to the new recruits.

"Maybe you should show them a thing or two," he suggested, hating that he couldn't conceal how winded he was.

Porthos, thankfully, did not rib him for it but turned to the watching cadets with an eager grin. "You heard the man. Let's see what you got."

Aramis shuffled over to the picnic table and collapsed onto the bench, chest heaving and sweat making his shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin.

A hand holding a cup of water appeared in front of him as d'Artagnan took a seat.

Aramis accepted it gratefully. "Thank you."

"Two years is bound to leave anyone out of shape," d'Artagnan remarked mildly.

Aramis grimaced. "Yes, well, meditation was valued at the monastery more than sparring."

D'Artagnan smirked. "Now there's an image. Two monks dueling in the courtyard while bandying Scriptures."

Aramis's mouth quirked and he sipped slowly at the water. "If I had known bandits would show up on our doorstep, I would have kept it up."

D'Artagnan folded his hands between his knees. "You didn't think you'd ever come back?" he asked quietly.

Aramis hung his head and didn't answer right away. He knocked back the rest of the water and twisted to set the cup on the table.

"I hadn't let myself hope for such a thing," he admitted. "It was…hard in the beginning. It took me so long just to get past what Milady had done, and by then I still struggled daily. I had begun to give up on ever feeling like myself again."

"Are you sure about being back?" d'Artagnan asked, expression pinched with concern.

Aramis smiled. "Yes. Seeing you all again, the thrill of the fight—I finally remembered what it was to feel alive." He shrugged one shoulder. "I just have a lot of catching up to do." With that, he rose to his feet and picked up his blade again. "Speaking of which, care to put an old man through his paces?"

D'Artagnan snorted. "You're hardly that old." But he stood as well and drew his sword.

"I feel like it, looking around at all these lads. Some look barely out of boyhood."

"I will admit, they even make me feel…older."

Aramis grinned and shook his head as the two of them moved off to a clear space to do some sword practice of their own. And once again, Aramis found his stamina sorely tested. He remembered when d'Artagnan had been the new recruit, swiftly climbing the ranks with his developing skills. Now he far outshone Aramis.

After several exchanges, Aramis staggered back, breathing heavily again. "War has sharpened your swordsmanship even more than I last remember. Have you bested Athos yet?"

D'Artagnan grinned. "We haven't tested it. I think because Athos is afraid to finally lose."

"That is hardly true," Athos's dry voice interrupted as he strode into the garrison.

Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged smirks. Right.

Athos was carrying a case, which he set on the picnic table. "Porthos!" he called, waving him over to join them. "The King had new uniforms made," he said, opening the lid and pulling out brand new pauldrons.

They were much fancier than their old ones had been, and more identical in design, with gold plated fleur-de-lis emblems and brass studs.

"Wow," d'Artagnan commented as Athos handed him one. He admired the craftsmanship for a moment before buckling it onto his shoulder.

"These are going to need some breaking in," Porthos commented with a grin.

Athos handed one to Aramis as well.

"Does this mean my commission has been officially reinstated?" he asked.

Athos smiled. "Welcome back."

Aramis's face cracked into a grin that matched his friends.

Porthos clipped his pauldron on and tapped d'Artagnan's shoulder. "Come on," he said, an eager gleam in his eye.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Why do you always insist on dirtying up the uniform?" he scowled good-naturedly as he followed Porthos back out into the middle of the yard to resume sparring.

Aramis decided he'd finally take a respite from training. He had a lot of catching up to do, but he wouldn't be doing it all in one day.

.o.0.o.

After distributing their new pauldrons, Athos went up to his office where he found Constance sitting at his desk with a bunch of paperwork. She immediately stood at his entrance.

"Sorry," she said abashedly. "Habit."

He waved off the apology. "I haven't had a chance to look everything over in detail, but from what I can tell, and what Treville told me, you've done an admirable job running the garrison in our absence."

Constance ducked her gaze to hide a pleased smile. "I was glad to do it, and to have something to keep me busy."

Athos nodded in understanding. With most of the dragons gone to fight the war, Constance and her father would have had reduced responsibilities. "If you're amenable to it, I would be grateful for your continued help," he said.

Constance faltered in surprise. "Oh. Are you sure?"

He gave her a small smile. "I was never fond of paperwork."

That earned a smirk. "Mm-hm."

"You're also familiar with the new recruits. I would value your estimation of them."

Constance nodded, expression turning serious as she realized he was not teasing her. "Um, about Captain Lahaye…"

"I gather he has been giving you trouble for a while?" Athos inferred.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she quickly assured him. "But I am concerned about what I witnessed at the food distribution center yesterday, and what I've been hearing from people in the city. The City Guard are ruthless, and they seem to enjoy using their authority to abuse the people, especially the refugees. I know you've only just gotten back and it's not your responsibility, I just thought…" She trailed off as though she didn't know what she'd thought. "I thought I might take a dragon to the food lines every once in a while," she said. "To keep the guards in check as much as the so-called riots."

Athos pursed his mouth at the information. "I don't see that would be a problem. The King wants one dragon on guard duty outside the palace at all times, but we have four."

"Six," Constance corrected. "Dragor and the one female we have left for breeding have been taking turns standing watch since the Dauphin was born."

Athos nodded. "That's plenty of rotations, then. And I will look into your other concerns as well."

Constance's expression melted with relief. "Thank you."

He smiled in return, and she headed out. Athos took a few minutes to go over some things, then he went back downstairs to the yard where the earlier sparring sessions had morphed into a more formalized instruction, with d'Artagnan schooling the cadets in proper balance and poise with their swords. Porthos was over at the table, wiping down his new pauldron. Athos hid a smirk as he walked up to him.

"The best way to break in a new uniform is to go on patrol," he said casually. "Care for a walk with me?"

Porthos quirked a brow at him. "Where we goin'?"

"To look into a few things around the city," Athos replied. "Constance shared some concerns."

Porthos shrugged and grabbed his weapons belt to buckle around his waist as they headed off.

While the streets themselves hadn't changed in their absence, there was a distinctive difference in the air that was palpable. Everything looked dingier, less maintained. The toll of war had a long reach.

"I didn't see it when we flew in," Porthos said, roving his gaze around, "but it's like all of Paris has turned into the Court of Miracles."

Indeed; there were beggars on nearly every corner, other people meandering about looking bedraggled and lost. Many shops had been closed and boarded up. City guardsmen patrolled the streets every other block, and Athos didn't miss the way citizens cowered away from them. And with those red and black uniforms, it reminded Athos of back when the Red Guard used to abuse their power in the streets.

Porthos nudged Athos's arm. "Hey," he said, thrusting his chin toward a disturbance down the street.

A pair of city guards appeared to be hassling some newly arrived refugees. One of the guards yanked a bag right out of a man's arms and ripped it open to look inside while his partner shoved the man back against the wall when he protested.

Athos and Porthos quickened their pace to intervene.

"What is the meaning of this?" Athos inquired tersely.

The city guards immediately postured themselves hostilely, only to falter when they noticed the shiny new pauldrons on the musketeers' shoulders.

"We're searching for contraband," the first guard answered shortly.

"And what makes you believe these people are in possession of any?" Athos asked.

The guard sneered back at him. "That's why we're checking."

Athos marched up to him and snatched the bag away. A quick glance inside showed only a few paltry items, likely the only valuables this family had been able to carry when they'd been forced from their homes.

"Congratulations, you didn't find any," Athos said dryly.

"I don't recall city security being under the Musketeers' purview," the guard retorted.

"We've defended the city plenty of times," Porthos interjected with a growl. "Even from the men those uniforms used to belong to."

The guard narrowed his gaze scathingly, and it started to look as though things were about to come to blows. While thrashing red guards had been a favored pastime of the musketeers, now was not the occasion for it.

"Be on your way," Athos ordered, fixing the two guards with a severe glare.

At first, they merely glowered back at him. But as a captain, he outranked them, so they finally shuffled off with vitriolic glowers cast over their shoulders.

Athos turned to the two peasants, who huddled together and averted their gazes fearfully. "Here," he said kindly and handed their bag back.

The man reached out a shaking hand to take it, then the two scurried away.

"I'm not likin' the look of things," Porthos said.

Athos nodded his agreement. He understood Constance's concerns now, though that city guardsman had been correct about one thing: this was not officially Musketeer jurisdiction. There were but four of them in Paris, and they had been recalled expressly for the royal family.

"Let's head back to the garrison."

They had only gone a few blocks when they came upon yet another confrontation between a city guard and a citizen. This time a woman was getting right up into the guard's face with raised voice that carried through the street.

"This is what the City Guard prides themselves on? Terrorizing innocent people?"

"Mind your own business!" the guard snapped.

On the ground next to them was a cowering man with his hands up as though he expected to be beaten.

"The treatment of common French citizens is my business!" the woman rejoined sharply.

The guard raised his arm as though to backhand her, but Porthos reached him in time to seize his wrist.

"You dare hit a woman?"

The guard tried to wrench free, and Porthos obliged by twisting him around and giving him a shove. The guard stumbled and then immediately drew his sword as the two musketeers placed themselves between him and his targets, angling their pauldrons clearly for him to see. He faltered.

"Beat it," Porthos growled in warning.

This one didn't hesitate, as he was outnumbered, and he quickly turned and left.

Athos turned around, only to freeze on the spot in utter shock at the woman he found himself facing. Ninon, likewise, blinked at him in surprise.

"Athos."

"Ninon…"

Porthos moved to help the cowering man off the ground, but he shied away from the large musketeer's touch.

"Thank you, Ninon," he blithered shyly. "But you should not have antagonized him."

"I could not stand by and do nothing," she replied with a kind smile. "Get back to the camp. I will return later."

He cast a nervous look at the musketeers before scurrying off. Athos suspected the people had grown to fear anyone in uniform.

He turned his stunned gaze back to Ninon. "What are you doing here?"

Her lips quirked. "It's nice to see you too. You never came back to visit."

Athos floundered for a response. "There was…war."

Ninon's expression sobered. "I know." She canted her head to the side. "Hello, Porthos."

"Hey," he responded.

"You did not answer my question," Athos pressed in a low voice. "What on earth are you doing here? You're a fugitive witch, remember?"

"I have not returned as the Comtesse de Larroque," she replied. "Just as Ninon, an equal among the people. No one has recognized me, and after all this time, I doubt anyone would."

Athos's jaw tightened in exasperation. "What possessed you to take such a risk?"

Ninon shrugged. "Fleur had grown a lot under Agnes's tutelage. There came a point where she no longer needed me to look after her. So I thought I could do more here."

"Standing up to city guards and almost getting beaten up yerself?" Porthos put in.

"Fighting against injustice, yes," she replied, then hesitated. "As much as I can, anyway. The only place I cannot show my face is Court, which is why I have not been able to petition the King to put a stop to the City Guard's mistreatment of his people." Ninon turned a pleased look on Athos. "But now that you are here, perhaps you can help my cause."

Athos could have rolled his eyes. First open education for women, now civil rights. At least Ninon was passionate about what she believed in, and in this latter case, at least, Athos could support it.

"I will speak with the captain of the City Guard," he promised.

She scowled. "He is as bad as his men."

"I will do what I can," Athos assured her.

Ninon dropped the disgusted look and nodded. "I appreciate that." A sultry smile tugged at her lips. "I am pleased to see you again."

Athos felt his cheeks warm slightly and he tried not to fidget. "It is good to see you too," he replied somewhat awkwardly.

Ninon hesitated as she glanced between him and Porthos. "I had wondered after you left Agnes's dwelling…how is Aramis?"

That was a long story, but the ending had worked out, so Athos settled for a simple, "He is well," as a response, since it was true and Aramis was back with them.

Ninon smiled again. "I'm glad to hear it. I should go, but you can find me at the refugee camp just outside the city."

With that, she nodded politely and then turned to leave. Athos watched her go, still somewhat stunned to find her here, of all places.

"So," Porthos said, grinning like an idiot. "Ninon."

Athos turned on his heel and started the other direction. "Yes."

"Always thought you two had a little somethin' there."

"There is hardly time for such things."

"Ah, but you'd like there to be?"

Athos rolled his eyes. "I did not say that."

"Don't have to," Porthos replied, looking far too pleased.

Athos inwardly sighed. Why did he get the feeling that as soon as they got back to the garrison, Porthos would be telling Aramis and d'Artagnan all about this little encounter?

He'd never hear the end of it now.


	3. Chapter 3

Before heading back to the garrison, Porthos and Athos made their way to the headquarters of the City Guard to speak with their captain about the atrocious conduct they'd witnessed. The City Guard didn't have a proper garrison like the Musketeers; rather, it looked as though they had commandeered a small estate within the city. A ten-foot, wrought-iron fence had been erected around the property, which consisted of a barren dirt yard with several supply wagons sitting about, and a large house. They had to walk the length of the perimeter to the gate, which was locked and guarded. The guardsman made no move to allow them admittance.

"We're here to see Captain Lahaye," Athos said.

The guard flicked an unimpressed look over them before moving to open the gate. Porthos shot him a dark glower as they entered. The iron clanged closed behind them, and Porthos didn't like the subsequent feeling of being trapped inside this place.

They crossed the yard to the house where they weren't barred from entering, though they did have to ask for directions to Captain Lahaye. The less than friendly answer made Porthos bristle further. It was like having the Red Guard back all over again.

The captain's office was much fancier than Athos's—and more so than a foot-soldier captain's should be. Maybe the gilded paintings had been left behind by the previous owner, though the various decanters sitting atop a cherry wood cabinet sure looked like they were indulged in, frequently.

Captain Lahaye looked up from his desk. "Ah, Captain Athos. What brings you to my garrison? Come to provide some of those munitions after all?"

"You seem well stocked, based on what we saw on our way in," Athos replied.

"One can never have enough during war, as I'm sure you know."

"You expectin' a Spanish army to show up?" Porthos rejoined.

Athos flashed him a brief quelling look, then turned back to Lahaye. "We came to speak with you about how your men are conducting themselves in the streets."

Lahaye's expression hardened, and he slowly pushed himself out of his chair to stand. "You have been back in the city a day and you want to tell me how to do my job?"

"Yer job isn't to beat up French citizens," Porthos retorted.

"I am merely trying to maintain order in a city that is growing more and more strained by the number of refugees. My men are acting in accordance with that."

"By treating every refugee like a suspected criminal?" Athos said.

Lahaye drew his shoulders back. "Many of them are criminals. They are desperate, and it's only natural they turn to illicit activities."

"Maybe if you didn't keep a chokehold on the food rations and mug them on the street, they wouldn't have to," Porthos growled.

Lahaye's eyes flashed darkly. "I am following the governor's orders on these matters. I suggest you see to your own."

That was as clear a dismissal as anything. Porthos glanced at Athos, who held Lahaye's gaze for a beat longer and then turned to walk out.

"That went well," Porthos muttered once they were outside.

"Perhaps we should pay a visit to the governor next," Athos replied.

Porthos shrugged; why not? Though at this point, he wasn't going to expect any better kind of reception.

The governor's house was only a few blocks from the City Guard garrison, perhaps not a coincidence, as the regiment had been formed to serve him. Or, well, serve _Paris_ , but Porthos doubted either party really saw it that way. He had too much experience of people in power oppressing those beneath them.

The governor had more city guards stationed at his residence, though these at least immediately permitted the musketeers to enter. An attendant was waved over and they were escorted into the foyer and told to wait.

And wait. And wait.

Porthos folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. It wasn't that he wasn't used to standing around waiting on sovereigns, it was just…well, it had been two years since he'd had to do it. And it took a different kind of patience than the one exercised on the eve of a battle.

Athos, on the other hand, had never lost that stoic, unbothered posture when it came to standing still.

They were kept waiting for the better part of an hour before a servant finally returned for them. Then they were escorted into an office even more opulent than Lahaye's. A plump man with long stringy hair sat behind a large mahogany desk.

"Ah," he greeted. "Welcome, welcome. What brings the legendary Musketeers to my house? Usually the King sends a messenger when he needs something."

Porthos wanted to ask if he normally kept the King's messenger waiting this long.

"We are not here on the King's business," Athos replied.

Governor Magnier cocked his head. "Oh? Then what can I do for you, gentlemen?"

"We have witnessed a handful of instances of brutality by your city guards," Athos explained. "We were hoping you would step in and put a stop to it."

The governor blinked at them as though taken aback. But he quickly waved his hand dismissively at their concerns. "I assure you, my men know how to handle these people."

Porthos and Athos exchanged a look.

"These people?" Athos repeated.

Magnier nodded with a sly look. "Don't be fooled by their pitiful appearances. They are crafty miscreants that will bring this city to ruin if allowed to run unchecked. Captain Lahaye and his men know what they are doing. Thank you for your concerns, but they are unfounded."

He then flicked his hand for them to leave and turned his attention back to the papers of his desk, not another word spoken about it.

Porthos drew his shoulders back, but Athos gave him a subtle look, and they both left.

"He's just as bad as Lahaye," he scowled under his breath.

Athos didn't say anything, but there was an obvious tightness in his jaw. He wasn't happy about how that went, either.

"You gonna tell Ninon we didn't have any luck?" Porthos asked as they strode into the street.

Athos slowed his pace in hesitation.

"You should go," Porthos said. "I think I'll pick up Vrita and head to one of those food distribution centers, lend some 'help.'"

Athos thought about it for another moment, then nodded. "Alright. But, try not to incite anything."

"I'm not the one you'll have to worry about," Porthos growled in return.

But he wouldn't object to one of those pissant city guards doing something to warrant a little lesson in manners.

.o.0.o.

Athos made the long trek out of the city to the refugee camp that had taken up residence outside its limits. Tents and shabby lean-tos created a village all of its own, one that was jam-packed with people.

"Excuse me," Athos said to a passing woman. "I am looking for Ninon."

She pointed him in a direction, so he kept going. He had to ask two more times before he finally spotted her amidst a group of gathered people.

"We must fight back against the city guards," a man was urging. "How much longer will we endure these injustices?"

"Violence is not the answer," Ninon replied stately.

"It is the guards who are initiating the violence," the man rejoined sharply. "We must defend ourselves!"

Ninon looked ready to respond, but her attention faltered when she caught sight of Athos. The rest of the group turned their gazes his way, all of them falling silent as the tension in the air increased noticeably.

"It's all right," Ninon assured them. "This is Athos. He is a friend."

"He wears a uniform," the passionate man spat.

"Of the Musketeers," she said. "They are not like the city guards at all. Athos is captain and was, in fact, going to address these matters with the Captain of the City Guard." She raised her brow in question at him.

Athos hesitated. He hadn't planned on telling an entire group of people that the City Guard captain and the governor had callously dismissed his concerns.

Ninon must have read such in his face because her expression sobered. "I take it they were not receptive."

"They were not," he admitted.

"Then we are left with no choice," the other man said. "We must take up arms!"

"Such action will only give the City Guard justification to strike you down," Athos countered.

"They do that already. Taking our rations, our precious few supplies, and arresting us for the most minor offenses that are preposterous, such as sitting on a street corner for too long!" The man gesticulated earnestly at the other refugees.

"I understand your frustrations," Athos pressed. "But a rebellion will not solve anything."

Disgruntled murmurs rippled through the increasing crowd.

"Athos is right," Ninon said loudly for them all to hear. "Have patience. We can still bring our grievances before the King. I am sure he will listen to them."

The refugees did not look appeased, but they did cease their grumblings and began to disperse. Ninon caught Athos's eye and cocked her head for him to follow. She led him into a nearby tent that was half the size his had been on the war front. A pile of blankets on the ground was the equivalent of a bed, and a short stool was set beside a very small cooking fire. A slanted piece of wood served as a makeshift writing desk, given the parchment and ink quill sitting on the ground next to it.

"I would offer you something to drink," Ninon said, "but I have yet to go to the river."

"I could walk with you," Athos offered.

She smiled and picked up her large jug, then led him back out and through the camp toward the river. The abject poverty was visible at every turn, from the meager scraps of food some tossed into cooking pots that were more water than broth, to the dirtied clothes on people's backs from having to trek for leagues just to find somewhere safe to lay their heads at night. And then there was the despondent look in their eyes, the hopelessness and uncertainty.

"I appreciate your effort," Ninon said. "But I could have told you Governor Magnier and Captain Lahaye could not be reasoned with."

"I suppose you've tried?"

"I have written them and received no response. I tried to get an audience with the governor once but was denied. Unfortunately, my new status doesn't afford me the privilege of being taken seriously. Not that I was much as a comtesse either." She flashed him a wry look.

Athos gave a weak smile in return. No, she hadn't been taken very seriously as a comtesse, but at least as part of the nobility she'd gotten through the door.

Ninon flicked a considering look at him. "Will you go to the King?"

He supposed that was the last course open to them. "I will try," he said.

She smiled. "That is all any of us can do."

They reached the river, and several people nodded to Ninon as she stepped into line behind the refugees already seeking to fill their containers.

"I gather you are some sort of leader here?" Athos spoke quietly. After what he'd seen at that meeting, it wasn't hard to deduce.

"It is a role that has fallen to me since I've been here," she admitted. "I've helped keep things organized, made sure resources were shared equitably, tried to help some find work where possible, though that is not in high supply either."

They reached the riverbank and she knelt down to fill her jug.

Athos thought back to some of the garrison reports he'd had a chance to peruse—they no longer had a stable boy, and those duties were currently divided up among the cadets. Athos would have to speak to Constance about whether there was enough money to hire someone for that work. Or at least pay them with three square meals a day. Speaking of which, old Serge had passed away the year prior, and it sounded like Constance had been doing most of the garrison's cooking. Perhaps they could hire a cook, or at least a capable assistant.

Ninon straightened and hefted the jug onto her hip. Athos reached a hand out to offer to carry it, but she merely gave him a look and set off on her own. He shook his head as he followed.

When they arrived back at her tent, she picked up a cup to pour some of the fresh water into, then held it out to him. He politely waved it off. Lips quirking, she took a sip herself.

"I don't suppose you would consent to come stay at the garrison," he blurted out.

Ninon arched a brow at him. "That is a little forward, even for you."

His cheeks flushed hotly. "I didn't mean- I meant your own room," he floundered. "We have the space."

Her lips pursed together like she was trying to suppress a laugh. "So you are merely offering out of the kindness of your heart?"

"Of course."

She gave him a kind smile. "Would you offer that to the person next door? Or the one next to them?"

Athos faltered. No, the garrison was not an inn…

"It's alright," Ninon said. "I am touched by your concern, but my place is here, helping people."

Athos sighed. He should have expected that. And while he may not have wholeheartedly agreed with the way she threw herself into her self-ordained missions, a part of him did admire her tenacity.

"If you need anything, send word," he said.

She smiled appreciatively. "Don't be a stranger, Athos."

He fumbled again for a response, and instead just settled on a clipped nod and then left, before their interaction could get any more awkward. For him, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

"Constance, this really isn't necessary," Aramis tried to protest yet again as they made their way through the streets.

"You've been back two days and haven't done it yourself," she replied.

He reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "I will once I've received my first commission deposit."

"You need a coat," she said. "You can't go on guard duty at the palace looking like a…" She flicked a look at his plain shirt and simple brown cloak.

His lips twitched. "A monk?"

Constance grinned. "Exactly. And the regiment's coffers will cover this until you receive that first commission and can pay it back."

Aramis sighed. She had a point, though, so he stopped trying to argue with her.

They entered a tailor's shop, one Aramis was familiar with from years prior. It had managed to stay in business throughout these hard times, though the stock was noticeably limited.

"Good afternoon," the owner greeted, coming out from a back workroom. "How may I help you?"

"We're looking for a coat," Constance replied, gesturing to Aramis.

The proprietor smiled brightly. "Of course. I have a fine collection right here." He walked over to a rack with a few articles hanging on the rods.

Aramis looked them over, then selected a dark brown leather.

"Excellent choice," the tailor said and removed it from the rack for him to try on.

Aramis took his cloak off and handed it to Constance, then slipped his arms into the sleeves of the coat. They fit, which was good. The length was much shorter than the coat he used to wear and the clasps on the front were fancier, but it moved well. The tailor took a few measurements, marking the places where adjustments needed to be made.

"If it suits you, I can have it ready by tomorrow," the man said.

Aramis considered it a moment longer, then nodded. He shrugged out of the article and handed it back to the tailor, who took it into the back room. As his gaze idly roved around the rest of the shop, he spotted a grey hat with a feathery plume. He'd need a new one of that, too, especially if he was going to be standing guard outside for any length of time.

He turned and found Constance smirking at him.

"Oh, go on," she said.

"I'll come back for it," he replied.

She shook her head and fished out a few coins. "Consider this making up for the past few Christmases you missed."

"I'm not the only one who missed them," he pointed out. His brothers had had it far worse than him out on the front.

Constance reached out to squeeze his arm. "Don't dismiss how much it means to all of us to have you back," she said softly.

Aramis dropped his gaze, then relented. How often at the monastery had he practiced the kindness of strangers to other people? Perhaps he should accept the kindness of friends.

They paid for the hat, set a time for Aramis to return tomorrow for the finished coat, and then he and Constance exited the shop to head back to the garrison. Constance pulled up short, gaze drawn down the street toward a square where a group of city guards were surrounding a man, woman, and two small children. Aramis immediately started toward them, but before he could intervene, Ninon came striding up toward the guards and shoved one of them away from the children whimpering at his feet.

"That's enough!" she exclaimed.

"How dare you!" the man spat and drew his sword.

By then Aramis had reached them. "You dare to pull a weapon on an unarmed woman?" he challenged.

"She's a menace," the guard rejoined. "Constantly inciting unrest." He cocked his head at his comrades. "Arrest her."

"On what grounds?" Aramis demanded.

The guard shot him a scathing look. "What I just said."

"She wasn't doing anything!" Constance interjected. "You were the ones antagonizing these poor people."

He rounded on her. "Mind your own business or you'll be arrested too."

"Hey," Aramis snapped. This was spiraling wildly out of control.

The other guards seized Ninon roughly by the arms.

"This isn't your jurisdiction, musketeer," the first guard sneered at Aramis.

He bristled in indignation, fingers twitching with the urge to draw on this scoundrel. But inciting a duel of his own wasn't going to solve matters, and would likely only exacerbate them.

He turned to Ninon. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll resolve this."

Her expression was tight but staunch as she was dragged away. Aramis clenched his jaw in frustration. He'd heard from the others what was going on in the city, but to witness it first hand…he wanted to thrash those men.

Constance hurried over to the family the guards had been accosting moments before. "Are you all right?" she asked.

The mother and father clung to their children as desperately as the children clung to them. They gave shaky nods in response to Constance's question.

"I have business in the city," the man stammered. "I found work. I'm not here to beg."

"Even if you were, that is no excuse for how those guards behaved," Constance said sternly.

Aramis glanced between them and the direction the guards had gone, most likely to the Chatelet. "How far is your destination?" he asked the man.

"N-not far. A few blocks. Please, if my new employer hears I've had trouble with the guards—"

"The trouble is not yours," Aramis said. "I was offering an escort to make sure you arrive safely." He looked to Constance next. "Then we must tell Athos what happened."

She nodded in fervent agreement.

The man and his family seemed stunned by the offer. It kindled Aramis's anger further that men who were entrusted to maintain order were, in fact, doing the opposite.

He and Constance escorted the family to their destination, a large house in one of the wealthier districts of the city. Hopefully it meant the man had obtained housing for his family while he worked, but that wasn't Aramis's place to stay and find out. Once the four had been admitted into the house, Aramis and Constance turned to hasten back to the garrison.

The immediate yard was empty when they arrived, though a group of cadets were gathered in the back near the dragon dens where it seemed d'Artagnan and Porthos might have been giving some introductory lessons. Aramis didn't see Athos with them, so he turned and hurried up the steps to the captain's office. He didn't stop to knock before pushing the door open, Constance on his heels.

Athos looked up with raised eyebrows upon the unannounced entrance.

"Ninon's been arrested," Aramis said without preamble.

"What?" Athos surged to his feet.

"She stood up to some city guards harassing a family with young children," Aramis explained. "They arrested her on the preposterous charge of inciting unrest."

Athos cursed under his breath, causing Aramis and Constance to exchange a surprised look at the uncharacteristic lapse in composure. "When the refugees at the camp find out, they will be incensed, I'm sure. Ninon is a respected leader among them. Many of them are already on the verge of mounting an uprising against the guards, and this incident may very well push them over the edge."

"What can we do?" Constance asked.

"It was too late when I returned yesterday to seek an audience with the King," Athos said. "And I've been told he's been wholly occupied with the Dauphin, but I suppose now I'll have to insist."

He rounded his desk with a determined look and marched out of the office. Aramis and Constance followed behind.

.o.0.o.

At least as the King's valued Captain of the Musketeers, Athos wasn't kept waiting for over an hour for his liege's pleasure.

That didn't mean Louis wasn't a little irked at being taken away from his newborn son.

"Yes, Athos, what is it?" the King asked impatiently as he walked into the room.

"My apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty," Athos said. "But there is an urgent matter developing between the City Guard and refugees in the city."

Louis frowned. "What kind of matter?"

"The guards have been harassing the refugees, and it has escalated into severe tension between the two groups," Athos explained. "Just an hour ago they arrested the camp's leader on false charges, an act I fear will prompt the refugees into taking retaliatory action against the injustices they have been suffering."

Louis's eyes widened in alarm. "You are talking about an uprising?"

"Not against you or the Crown," Athos quickly assured him. "Their grievances are against the City Guard. Unfortunately, Governor Magnier has been unwilling to listen to concerns regarding his mens' behavior. Which is why I believe the only way to prevent things from escalating further is for Your Majesty to step in."

The King furrowed his brow. "How?"

"The woman they arrested has been advocating non-violence among the people. Her only interest is in helping the refugees, and they respect her for it. I believe if she were released from custody, she could convince them not to take up arms."

"A woman?" Louis said, sounding slightly intrigued. "Who is she?"

Athos faltered; he couldn't reveal Ninon's identity.

"A merchant's daughter from the south," Aramis interjected.

"Your Majesty," Constance spoke next, "she was only arrested because she dared to stop some city guards from harassing a family of refugees with young children. Both Aramis and I witnessed the confrontation. The children were frightened and she was only trying to protect them."

Louis's expression creased in contemplation.

"I ask for you to grant mercy, Your Majesty," Athos picked up. "For the sake of peace."

The King appeared to be considering it. "Very well," he finally said. "In honor of my own son, I will order this woman's release."

Athos's shoulders nearly sagged in relief. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

Louis nodded and strode over to a writing desk where he procured a quill and parchment. "What is this woman's name?"

Athos stiffened and flicked a tense look at Aramis. "Ah, Ninon," he answered with a grimace.

Louis paused in his writing. "I knew a Ninon once," he said thoughtfully. "You remember, don't you, Athos? The lovely Comtesse de Larroque." He sighed. "She turned out to be a witch," he lamented.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Athos replied.

Louis finished scribbling out his orders of release, stopped, then continued writing. "On second thought, have all the refugees that have been arrested released. Make sure they know it is a gift from their King." He stood and handed the parchment to Athos. "I want to hear no more talk of rebellion."

Athos bowed his head as he took the document. "I am sure they will be immensely grateful, Sire."

Louis nodded, then turned on his heel and departed.

Athos let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He shared bewildered looks with Aramis and Constance; that had gone better than he'd expected.

With the release orders in hand, they hurried back to the garrison. Athos wanted a dragon presence when they arrived at the Chatelet, not to mention a quick ride to the refugee camp before anyone there decided to take up arms.

"Everything okay?" d'Artagnan asked as they quickly saddled Savron and Rhaego.

"If we're not yet too late to avert disaster," Athos replied dryly.

"I'll be back later," Constance told her husband, then climbed up behind Aramis on Rhaego.

D'Artagnan was left sputtering as they took to the skies and flew the short distance to the Chatelet. The dragons had to land in the wide street outside the prison walls, but their arrival was enough to get everyone's attention.

Athos strode into the yard as the warden rushed out to meet them. He shoved the King's orders into the man's face. "The refugees are to be released, by order of the King."

The warden blinked dubiously at the document, which clearly had Louis's signature and seal. "Does Captain Lahaye know about this?"

"Does Captain Lahaye supersede the authority of the King?" Athos said with dark menace.

"No, of course not," the warden blubbered. He turned to his guards and gestured weakly. "Release those prisoners."

Athos, Aramis, and Constance waited in the yard while the prison guards scurried back inside. It took several minutes, but eventually a group of bedraggled people were escorted out. Some blinked rapidly in the harsh sun, having been down in the cells for days. Ninon had her arm around a man's waist as he staggered along. She almost pulled up short when she spotted Athos.

"The King has granted your release," Athos announced to them all.

Ninon passed off the man she was helping to another person, then walked toward the musketeers. She smiled at Athos. "I knew you would come through for us."

"The King came through for his subjects," he replied.

She just gave him a knowing look.

"What is going on here?" a furious voice interrupted.

They all turned to find Captain Lahaye storming into the prison yard.

"Warden, you better have a good explanation for this," Lahaye seethed.

"Orders from the King," Athos told him calmly. "Granting clemency to all these people. They have, after all, suffered enough in this war."

Lahaye stared at him for a long moment, chest practically seething. Then he turned on his heel and marched off.

"Your men should watch themselves from now on," Aramis called after him in warning.

Lahaye didn't react, though his stride did falter when Rhaego shifted out in the street to level an intense glower at him.

"That will not be the last trouble we'll have from him," Constance remarked.

"I know," Ninon said.

"You and the refugees will have to be even more careful," Athos warned. "The law will not protect them if they take matters into their own hands."

"Speaking of which," Aramis said, "you should get back to the encampment before word of her arrest reaches them."

Athos nodded and put one hand around Ninon's back while gesturing to his dragon with the other. "I believe you've had the pleasure of Savron's flight once before."

She smiled nervously. "I have. But I hope you do not plan to stick me on his back alone and send him on his way."

Athos canted his head. "We will go together."

"What about…?" She craned her head to look back at the other released prisoners.

"We'll make sure these people get back safely," Aramis said.

Athos walked Ninon out to Savron and gave her a boost up into the saddle. He then climbed up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist.

"Forgive me," he murmured.

Ninon leaned back against him. "If you wanted a chance to be closer, all you had to do was ask."

Athos was so caught off guard by her comment that he forgot to hold on when Savron leaped into the air with a flap of his wings, and his reflexive reaction was to press forward more firmly against Ninon. The resulting embarrassment heated his face, which was fortunately hidden at the moment.

It wasn't a lengthy flight to the edge of the city, and only a couple of minutes later, Savron was landing outside the refugee camp. Several frightened screams went up at their arrival, and Athos realized most of these people wouldn't have lived with dragons constantly flying overhead like the citizens of Paris had, back when the Musketeer dragons had been at the garrison and not at war.

Savron snorted and shuffled away as soon as Athos and Ninon had dismounted, trying to give the refugees a bit more comfortable distance. But as people scrambled away from the dragon's location, several men came charging forward, armed with little more than tools and a few real weapons. Nothing that would be effective against a dragon, in any case, though Athos admired their bravery and desire to protect their own. He also recognized the man leading the charge.

"Ninon," the refugee gasped in surprise as they all pulled up short.

"Harlan, you can put those down. This dragon is a friend and won't harm anyone," Ninon said.

The men hesitated, flicking uncertain looks at Savron before slowly lowering their weapons.

"We heard you had been arrested," he said. "We were about to come after you."

"You thought you could lay siege to the Chatelet with just these?" Athos said, unable to keep the disapproval from his tone.

"Or take some city guards hostage and demand her release," Harlan retorted.

"There is no need for that," Ninon quickly interjected. "The King has granted not only my release, but the release of all the other refugees who have been unlawfully imprisoned. They will rejoin us soon. The King and the Musketeers are on our side."

Athos watched surprised reactions ripple through the refugees. The armed men began to stand down, though this Harlan fellow still didn't look fully appeased. Still, a delicate peace had been restored, for now.

Ninon turned back to Athos. "Thank you, again." She gave him a sultry smile. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other now."

"I suppose we will," he replied stiffly.

Ninon arched a brow at him. "Does that please you?"

He angled a dry look at her, then with a twitch of his lips, he turned and walked back to Savron. Ninon just smirked at him knowingly as he climbed into the saddle.

Yes, he was pleased by the prospect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> Food shortages stir unrest within the city, and multiple thefts have the musketeers scrambling to keep the peace.


End file.
